


"Hey, Hancock. Your thoughts?"

by FandomTrashbin



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, F/M, Fallout 4 - Freeform, Fluff, How Do I Tag, I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm Bad At Tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:08:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrashbin/pseuds/FandomTrashbin
Summary: Four shots, and the thought of being safe too early. And a Stingwing, thinking it was a great idea to take someone with it when it goes to hell - time is running out for Hancock, but both Hancock and Caren refuse to give up yet.





	"Hey, Hancock. Your thoughts?"

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I originally wrote for my girlfriend and she loved it, so I'm posting it here. I'm just a hoe for dying characters I love, okay  
> Please apologize any grammatical, vocabulary or typing error. I am from Austria, so my first language is German. Enjoy this little drabble, though!

»Hey, Hancock.«

She waited.

For a second, she wasn’t quite sure if he heard her – then, he opened his eyes and turned his head, slowly. The inky black depths looked more tired than any other time she had ever looked into them; and that, she had done a lot of times.

»Hmm?«, he went, barely loud enough for her to hear. Caren felt her throat tighten at the weak sound of his voice. 

»Your thoughts?«, Caren asked, forcing a smile on her face, trying to keep her voice from cracking. 

Hancock blinked. He glanced down to his leg. The fabric of his pants was stained with blood – and it was by far less of Raider’s blood than usual. The improvised bandages made from a shirt she had taken off a Raider were drenched in the red liquid. She had lost count over how many Stimpaks she had already used on it, but it helped only half as well as she hoped. The Ghoul looked up to her again.

»You got another Jet?«, he asked. His voice was not louder than a faint whisper. 

And this was what made it strike her heart like a tree by lightning. 

»John, you had three in the past hour…« »You know, it’s not like my addiction isn’t already there or like it would go away all of the sudden if I stopped taking Jet for a day«, he coughed. 

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall of the decrepit house she had dragged John into only an hour ago. The third after a Stingwing had considered it as absolutely necessary to suddenly flutter up again after Hancock had shot it four times – Caren had had her gun out within a heartbeat, but that still hadn’t been fast enough. 

Now they were here – miles away from any settlement or doctor, which Hancock was in desperate need for. She felt like crying, she wanted to curl up in his arms and cry her eyes out on this stupid red coat of his that looked so much like the blood dripping from his wound about this stupid Stingwing and its stupid lethal poison, she wanted to cry until it was all out, her sadness, her desperation, her fear, but she knew you couldn’t, not now, not in front of Hancock. Her hand slipped inside her pocket, and she pulled out a Jet. 

John glanced to the side.

»Could you… Erm…«

She needed a second to understand what he wanted, what he needed from her. His arms were paralyzed, just as his leg had been the entire day. Caren breathed out, shaking, and scooted closer to him. With one hand, she held up his head a little, and with the other one, she set the Jet to his lips. 

Hancock inhaled deeply – his eyes rolled back as the drug kicked in. Carefully, she laid his head back in its former position and slid away to her seat at the wall. The two of them shivered, as a draw of cold air ripped through the ruins of their hostel. 

»Well, shit, sister«, Hancock laughed quietly. »Come here, maybe we have a chance of getting through the night without freezing to death, then.«

For a second, she hesitated – then she shifted, Hancock scooted over a few inches, and the Vault-dweller sank her head on Hancocks shoulder. For a reason she could not quite grasp, the feeling of wanting to cry shrunk, and so did her fear. She hadn’t even noticed that she had been afraid – of what exactly, escaped her understanding. 

Ferals, lurking in the dark? 

The pack of Mongrel Dogs they had encountered only a few blocks down the street and had scared them away with a few ineptly shot bullets, instead of taking the time and killing them? 

Or the Raider group, that was a lot closer than it was good enough for her taste, but Hancock, he had collapsed more times than she could count on two hands, and there had just been no other option than getting into the nearest building? 

She felt how Hancocks arm laid around her waist. »Ah«, he said, quietly. »It’s not as numb as I thought yet.« She suppressed a small snort. Then, she looked up. 

The Ghoul had his eyes closed – a smile sat on his lips. Slowly, she leaned up to his face and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. The smile faded a tiny bit, but not in a bad way; instead, it became softer. »Can you do that again?«, he asked, not looking at her. 

She flashed a little smile as well – but as she leaned in to give him another kiss on the cheek, he turned his head, and their lips collided. For a split second, she was too surprised to even flinch back; not to mention to kiss back. As fast as it had happened, as fast it was over again, and she cried out on the inside for more. 

Hancock turned his head away. »I’m sorry«, mumbled. »I’m sorry, that probably wasn’t…«

She didn’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, she interrupted by gently putting her hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers. »Can you«, she whispered, »do that again?«

She saw surprise in John’s eyes – and a spark that made her heart jump. Suddenly, every feeling of coldness in her body seemed to vanish into thin air. 

He didn’t answer right away. Hancock leaned over, so their lips were less than half an inch apart and whispered back: »I wish I could pull you closer like in one of those corny comic stripes, but I can’t feel my arms.«

She didn’t know whether to laugh or suppress a sob. »It’s okay«, she replied in the same voice. »I know you’re the corniest man in Commonwealth anyway.«  
Hancock smiled as he locked their lips again. 

She felt her hand go up to his face again – her fingers gently stroking over the ruggy, burned up skin of his.  
Hancock rolled to the side, facing her, without breaking the kiss. The arm he had put around her waist pulled her closer, or at least attempted to. His lips were a lot softer than their look gave away.

She couldn’t remember Nate ever having kissed her with such gentleness. 

As they finally pulled away from each other, she buried her face on his throat. 

For a few minutes, they just laid there in silence.

»You know, before the Great War… Before I was frozen, my grandmother liked to tell me stories from her youth«, she said, quietly. »Back in, I don’t know, first quarter of 21st century, you know. There was this superhero she liked a lot.« 

Hancocks chest rumbled with a chuckle. »A superhero?«

»M-hm«, she replied. »And now that I think back of the pictures she showed me, he… Looks quite a bit like you. You two have a lot in common.«

»We do? Was he also an ugly bastard?«

»That’s the catch«, she replied. »He wasn’t. At all. He had the same skin as you, and he was still handsome. He looks almost the exact same as you do.« She paused, and added: 

»Also, he always wore red and defended people he thought were worth being protected for free, even though he was something like a hitman and was usually paid. And he wore always red.«

Hancock chuckled again. »Actually does sound like me. What was his name?«

Caren furrowed her brows. »I don’t know«, she said. »But it had the word ›dead‹ in it.«

The chuckle grew into a laughter – became silent again fairly quick, though.

Yet another few minutes of silence passed, and Hancock thought Caren had fallen asleep, as her eyes were closed and she breathed in deep, calm draws. Then, the Vault-dweller suddenly said: »Please don’t go, Hancock.«

»I won’t go anywhere, sunshine, if I could, we would lie in my bed right now and not on a shitty mattress that has been lying and dusting here in any weather for a century«, the Ghoul replied.

Carens head lifted from his shoulder, and she looked at him with a look that made him almost immediately regret his joking answer. 

»That’s not what I meant, and you know that«, she said. 

»I know, I know. I’m sorry«, he replied. He regretted upsetting her – not knowing if he would make it through the night, he didn’t want Caren to feel like this in the last hours they spent together. The moonlight shone down on the two of them coldly, and in the shadow her hair threw, the white light made Caren’s eyes sparkle. It took Hancock a second to understand that the reason for this were the tears that stood in them. 

He wanted to pull her in to kiss her again – but by now, his arm was entirely numb.

Slowly, Caren moved. She placed one elbow next to his head, and the other one on the other side. Her body shifted onto his; cautiously looking not to touch the terrible wound on his leg, as it caused him enough pain on itself anyway. She sank her forehead on this, and they closed their eyes in the same second, remaining like this. 

»I think it’s the Jet, I must be higher than when I took that radiation-drug. There is no way a man like me should be this lucky«, Hancock said, quietly.  
Caren did not respond this time. She just tilted her head, and enjoyed the feeling of his lips once again. 

After some time, the two of them must have fallen asleep.

When the Vault-dweller opened her eyes again, the stars were still visible on the sky. She looked on her Pip-Boy for a second; 4:22am. Wondering what had woken her up, she yawned. Hancock was still asleep – his chest rose and sank with every breath he took. Caren took a second to smile at his sleeping face.

Then, she heard the noise of a rock being kicked.

Caren froze. 

The crunching of pebbles under boots. 

Silence.

Hancock opened his eyes, looked at her sleepily and a bit confused. The sleepiness vanished as he saw the alarmed look on her face.  
»Someone outside?«, he mouthed. 

Caren nodded. »I’ll take a look«, she whispered. 

The mayor of Goodneighbor didn’t look happy about her going downstairs on her own at all – still, he didn’t say anything. 

Without making a sound, Caren got up and grabbed the small pistol she still had as a trophy from Kellogg. She creeped to the window, gazing outside. She counted six armed humans directly in front of the house – in the darkness, she couldn’t make out whether it was Raiders, Gunners or maybe Scavengers. It couldn’t be Triggermen – the ridiculous looking fedoras were missing. A woman about Caren’s age gave them orders; they were too far away for Caren to exactly hear her voice to know what she said. The group split up, and the members went in different directions each, going into the ruins of the houses around them. 

Caren swapped to her switchblade, threw a last look back to Hancock, and sneaked downstairs. 

Right next to the door, she positioned herself and waited.

The leader outside seemed to wait until her people had each gone into one of the ruins; the Vault-dweller heard how her steps came closer.  
As she finally stepped through the door, Caren attacked. 

She tackled the woman to the ground – the hand with the switchblade went up, ready to stab, as she was kicked off and thrown against the wall. Gunshots fell, all of them missing their target, but Caren had literally felt the bullet’s air-draw against the skin of her throat as it flew past her and hit the wall.  
She ducked down and launched herself forward, tackling her opponent once again, and this time, she put the blade right to her enemy’s throat – and stopped herself from slitting it in the very last second, as the moon threw its light on the woman’s face.

»Fahrenheit?«, she asked in shock.

»Caren!«, the other one replied. It sounded like a mix of surprise and disbelief.  
Immediately, Caren lifted from the Drifter’s stomach she was sitting on. 

»What are you doing here?«, the Vault-dweller asked, as she offered the other one a hand, which she grabbed and let herself be pulled on her feet by Caren.

»Searching for you and mayor Hancock«, Fahrenheit replied. »You said you were going to be back in two days – and you were gone for almost a week now, and the people in Goodneighbor started being concerned. There is no one who does the job better than Hancock.«

»Oh, thank god!«, Caren cried out. »Yes, he’s upstairs, but he’s paralyzed. A Stingwing poisoned him.«

Caren saw Fahrenheit’s face go pale. »Shit«, she muttered. She turned around, leaned out of the destroyed window and yelled: »They’re here!«  
Then, she turned to Caren again. »Take me to him.«

»Shit, I already thought you were dead«, Hancock coughed, as Caren rushed through the door, followed by Fahrenheit and two other drifters. 

»Hell, no, who do you think I am?«, she asked, flashing a smile. She decided not to mention that she was almost shot in the throat. 

Hancock’s eyes went wide as he saw who Caren had brought with her. »Fahrenheit?«  
»Mayor Hancock«, the woman nodded. She glanced to Hancock’s leg. »I know I say the thing about sacrificing a piece when playing chess, a lot, but sacrificing the king is a bad move«, she added. She looked at Caren. »Help me carry him downstairs.«

With Hancock hanging on their shoulders like a sack of flour, they made their way down, where the other drifters were waiting. None of them seemed to know whether to look relieved to see their mayor alive, or horrified by the terrible wound on his leg. 

»Alright, then«, Caren said. She turned her head a bit, looked at Hancock, who returned the look. The Vault-dweller smiled.  
»Let’s go home.«

**Author's Note:**

> There we go!! I hope you enjoyed it! I'd be super happy about comments (I even answer them, I promise), and hey, maybe there is more to come because I really fucking love Hancock.  
> See y'all next time, hopefully!


End file.
